


Aching For You

by TR33G1RL



Series: Claim Your Victory, For I Am Beaten [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Competent!Buggy, Dirty Talk, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, angst kinda, as far as we know, mentions of being sick, possibly resolved angst, shanks has a praise kink, small amounts of blood, that tag needs more content dammit, y'all know me and what i write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TR33G1RL/pseuds/TR33G1RL
Summary: Shanks won't say he's a broken man, but he knows when he's beaten. He just didn't expect to be beaten by the memory of a rival and friend who turned out to be so much more. Of course, he was wrong, and now here he is, laying on his bed, surrounded by empty bottles and shards of glass and the mementos of failed one night stands. He was wrong, and he willingly admits his defeat. He can't get Buggy out of his head, but he also can't convince the clown to  come see him in person. Shanks is in agony. Every second he spends sober is a second he spends thinking of Buggy, and it's torture. He gives up. He knows he's lost. Now he just wants Buggy to come and claim his victory. But he won't, and that just makes it even worse.





	Aching For You

A tired sigh falls from Shanks’ lips as he closes the door to his cabin behind him. It has been a few long few days of partying and drinking, and his body and mind ache with the need to take a moment to himself. Especially since he’s just spent the past few hours sobering up by puking in the sand and trying to figure out why his cheek was bleeding. It hasn’t been a fun process, but it seems to be over now. At least, the Captain of the Red Hair Pirates _hopes_ it’s over, because damn, he’s over the taste and feeling of bile burning his throat and tongue.

God, but the taste is his mouth really is unsavory. Shanks more or less stumbles over to his dresser and snags a half-empty bottle of spiced wine from next to the mirror and takes a long swig. He knows he’s trying to sober up, but what’s one sip going to hurt. ‘Sip’ meaning ‘several large swallows.’ He uses the excuse that he needs to rid his tastebuds of the flavor of illness and that he’s just using the spiced wine to do so. He’s definitely not using the wine to clear his mind clear of the memory of a certain man who has been haunting his every thought for the past lifetime.

However, Shanks is a man of his word, and when he told his first mate he was going to sober up and take a nap, he meant it. With a rough, gravelly groan, Shanks reluctantly sets the bottle back in the dresser. He keeps his hand on the dark glass of the bottle for a second longer. The temptation to keep drinking until his head is heavy and his mind is light is strong - so very, _very_ strong - but Shanks decides that today, he is stronger than his urges. He lets his hand drop back to his side with a longsuffering groan. 

He reaches up and unclasps his heavy, black cloak before shrugging his shoulder so it falls to the ground. Shanks stares at it blankly for a moment. Shanks knows he should pick it up and put it away. He _knows_ that. Really, he does. But he just can’t find the energy inside his tired, aching body to do that. Brown eyes turn their gaze away from his failure and instead turn towards the bed, his end goal for the night. 

His bed hasn’t been slept in for days, but that doesn’t mean it’s clean or made or untouched. It’s littered with bottles of every type of alcohol, some of which have fallen to the ground and shattered, forming a layer of defense like a moat around Shanks’ bed. Shanks steps over it easily and climbs into bed. He doesn’t want to remember how the bottles got broken.

Of course, once he clambers into his bed, he’s surrounded by the reminders of how those bottles fell to the ground with no resistance. Bras, panties, boxers, briefs, garter belts and other random pieces of clothing surround him. As if there was any doubt what sins Shanks had committed in this bed during the week-long party. He doesn’t even remember how many partners he brought to this sin-soiled mattress, doesn’t want to. All he remembers is that at the sound of his name, they had fawned and swooned over him and had been more than eager to join him in bed. They had left their undergarments as mementos, perhaps hoping that they could make a yonko fall in love with them.

Well, tough shit for them. Shanks is already in love, and he isn’t falling out of that _curse_ any time soon.

And maybe that’s the reason that laying in this graveyard of unwashed clothes and drained bottles and their broken relatives feels like a treasonous act, even to a pirate. Psh. ‘Maybe.’ Shanks already knows _damn well_ that it’s the exact reason he feels guilt rushing over his body like a harsh current. He wants to push all of the sweat-filthy clothes off the bed. More than that, he wants to soak them in grease and alcohol and let them burn, burn to ash until the scent of smoke in the air washes away the stench of sex.

But does Shanks even deserve that? He claims that he loves Buggy, but then he goes and sleeps with unnamed strangers with blurry faces and bodies that weren’t strong or strange enough to truly satisfy what Shanks desires.

He decides that no, he doesn’t deserve a clean bed or a clear conscious. He leaves everything where it is, weighing down on both his bed and conscious, as he finally lets his sore body collapse on the bed. He rolls onto his back and lets his muscles relax, his arm falling over the side of the bed in the process. It’s only a second later that his arm brushes against the ground, and half of a second after that Shanks feels a jolt of pain course through his hand. With a sharp, hissed inhale through his teeth, Shanks pulls his hand up to see why his brain had registered signals of pain from his hand. 

The reason for his now tingling, agitated nerves is quickly visible. There’s a long cut down the inside of his middle finger, and red is blooming from the cut and forming heavy drops that slide down towards Shanks’ palm. With a weary exhale, Shanks brings his hand to his mouth and lets his tongue draw a line over the cut, effectively wiping away all the blood. However, once Shanks pulls his hand back to observe the cut again, the shallow trench in his skin is already filling with blood once more. This time, he draws the digit fully into his mouth, sucking on it in an attempt to force his blood to clot up and close the small injury.

Shanks glances over the side of the bed to find that a piece of red-brown-gold glass is the supposed attacker. The smooth-jagged edge of it drips with maroon liquid, but it shines in the afternoon sunlight as if it’s innocent. Shanks glares at it a bit longer before a thought makes his features soften.

Broken glass, smooth and sharp… For some reason it reminds him of Buggy’s tongue. 

Buggy has always had a way with words. It’s been a talent he keeps hidden, but one that he uses discreetly. Many people think that Buggy simply gained dumb luck when he ate that devil fruit, but Buggy was already smart in the first place. Shanks had seen many times when a simple remark had turned a battle in his favor and others when it had drawn admirers to their knees. Buggy was incredibly talented with his tongue, and Shanks didn’t mean in the bedroom.

Though, having had that thought, Shanks isn’t sure that Buggy _isn’t_ good with his tongue in the bedroom. Maybe Buggy is amazing with his tongue when he has a partner to prove it to. After all, he’s talented with his mouth when he speaks, so maybe his oral talents would apply in other places? And, since Shanks already thought about how good Buggy is at talking, would he be good at dirty talk as well? 

...That’s not the thought Shanks meant to have. He can feel his blood moving to his face, making his tan cheeks flush red. Goddamn, but it’s a nice thought to have, isn’t it? The thought that Buggy could - that he would - take Shanks apart with that lovely, red-painted mouth… That’s something that Shanks hasn’t even _dreamed_ of before. Well, he had, perhaps, in those brief seconds where his orgasm blinds him and he can’t control his spiraling thoughts.

Shanks feels his cock stirring in his pants at the idea of Buggy teasing him and whispering filthy, lewd words into his ear. He releases his finger from his mouth as his mind is sent reeling with the thought of Buggy and his beautiful mouth. But what would Buggy say to him?

_‘Look at this place! Hell, look at you! Shanks, you’re a goddamn mess! What, can’t handle being without me?’_

Shanks’ eyes go wide as he hears the words in Buggy’s voice. It’s all too easy to picture him, too. He’d be standing at the door to Shanks’ cabin, his arms crossed over his chest and a disapproving frown would cause a downward curl of his lips. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head before looking back to the redhead. 

Damn, that’s too vivid of an image. It makes Shanks’ cock throb in his pants and he immediately lowers his hand to rub against the aching bulge. A choked gasp falls from his lips as he closes his eyes, trying to picture Buggy in this scenario better.

_‘Are… Are you really about to get off? In this mess? You really do need me, don’t you?’_

Buggy would shake his head as he lets his arms fall to his sides. He would stride over to Shanks bed and look down at the redhead. Shanks always loves seeing Buggy above him, no matter the situation. The blue-haired man would give a pointed look to Shanks’ hand on his cock before looking Shanks’ in the eye again. His disapproving frown would turn up at the edges until he was smirking at Shanks.

_‘God, and here I thought you were_ **_joking_ ** _when you said you couldn’t live without me! Turns out you were telling the truth. Poor Shanks~’_

Buggy would sit on Shanks’ bed, right by his hips, and Buggy would place one of his hands over the redhead’s own. He would press down just a bit, just enough to convince a whimper from low in Shanks’ throat. His other hand would come up to Shanks’ face, and when Shanks would eye his hand warily, Buggy would laugh that beautiful, loud laugh. Then he’d softly brush Shanks’ hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear in a tender, loving motion.

Loving? Oh, now Shanks was getting _too_ indulgent. But isn’t this his fantasy? Can’t he have whatever he wants? Of course it is, and of course he can. So if Buggy acts loving in his fantasy, then no one has to know, and _certainly_ no one can tell him off for it.

_‘You’re awfully lucky you’re this cute, otherwise I wouldn’t forgive you for doing this. You’re just lucky and that’s why I’m doing this, got it?’_

Shanks nods, even though he knows Buggy isn’t there to see it. “Got it,” He mumbles softly as he palms himself through his pants, giving himself an occasional squeeze and drawing soft sighs from himself. God, this was so much better than every sexual experience then he’d had in the past week. Hell, better than any sexual experience he’d had _ever._

He’s used to Buggy’s passive-aggressive comments on how Shanks was attractive, and he honestly enjoys them. He can’t quite explain why, but he feels like they’re Buggy’s weird version of compliments, and he really enjoys the thought of Buggy complimenting him. 

...Well, now that he’d had _that_ thought...

_‘But I guess that I’m being nice to you for a reason. After all, you’ve waited for me for so long! It’s kinda… sweet of you, I guess. And I guess you deserve some sort of reward. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pretty little thing? Now pull down your pants for me.’_

Oh. Oh _fuck._ Shanks is certainly never going to be able to get over Buggy now. The simple image of Buggy smirking and cooing at him has his face turning red and his cock fully hard in his pants.

He obeys the commands of his imagination and pushes his pants down to his mid-thighs, his cock springing free with the motion. Shanks keens low in his throat as his breathing grows shallow. His cock is so damn hard, and it’s already dripping precum from the slit. The head is dark red and swollen and throbs in the warm afternoon air. He wraps his hand around the base and lets his hand work on it’s own as he continues his fantasy in his head.

_‘Look at that, Shanks knows how to follow orders! What a good boy. Hey, where do you keep the lube?’_

Buggy would chuckle as he wrapped his slicked hand around Shanks’ cock while the redhead was stunned at having Buggy openly compliment him. The touch would catch Shanks off guard and his back would arch while Buggy begins to stroke him at a steady, even pace. Shanks wouldn’t even be able to hold back his moans and pants of Buggy’s name as he reached up to hook his hand around Buggy’s neck. 

_‘Aw, does Shanks want a kiss? You’re cute when you’re desperate, Shanks.’_

Buggy wouldn’t even feign confusion to tease Shanks, like he usually does. He would just lean down to press a quick, chaste kiss to Shanks’ lips. But Shanks knows that Buggy would pull away before Shanks could get his fill. The shorter man would laugh as Shanks pouts and whimpers and tries to pull Buggy back down to reconnect their lips.

_‘What? Was that not enough? Fine, fine! Just because I happen to like you.’_

And Buggy makes good on his word, leaning back in to seal their lips together with ease. He would hold the back of Shanks’ head as he presses his tongue into the redhead’s mouth. His tongue would playfully curl around Shanks’ own as his hand speed up on his cock.

Shanks’ member is throbbing harshly in his hand, and he wonders why he didn’t realize he had a thing for being praised by Buggy earlier. His hips twitch and buck and Shanks knows that he should’ve been doing this much earlier.

Buggy pulls back as he smears the bead of precum beading up from Shanks’ slit. He chuckles as he smiles softly at Shanks.

_‘Good boy, Shanks. Are you close? Then again, I guess you’re pretty sensitive right now. You’re not exactly in top condition… But you still needed to jerk off to me before you fell asleep. You really_ are _weak for me! That’s… really cute, actually.’_

Shanks smiles at his hallucination before his lips are forced to part in a moan of Buggy’s name. He knows that Buggy is right, that he’s already close. Not that he really minds. After all, even after he cums, he knows he’s going to dream of Buggy when he sleeps.

_‘Go on, then. I’ll let you cum on my hand this time, since you’re being a good boy for me.’_

And, because Shanks is good, he does. He cums all over his own hand, more than he’s ever cum before. It shoots onto his chest and upper thighs and creates a white mess all over his body. Shanks murmurs Buggy’s name throughout his entire orgasm.

Shanks is left panting and staring at the ceiling. He strips off his shirt and uses it to wipe himself clean before tossing it on the ground of shattered glass. As he stares at the ceiling, surrounded by his own sin, he feels a fire light up in his soul.

He’s going to make Buggy know that Shanks is genuine when he says that he loves him. Buggy did this, he beat Shanks until Shanks couldn’t function right. He beat Shanks until Shanks could think of nothing but Buggy. Buggy has well and truly won, and Shanks has well and truly lost. This is Buggy’s victory, and he needs to claim it, goddammit! Shanks will make him know he’s won if he has to kneel at Buggy’s feet and make him know that he will obey his every command.

Buggy will know that Shanks loves him. He will.


End file.
